Sitting in your truck after work
With your motor running,
You were the very vista of America.
.
It was six degrees out
And the snow was falling.
.
I started scraping my car
Next to where you were
And you didn’t move
And I could feel your non-movement
Like a chasm bored before whom you had been
And like your own incisor
Back into these cold environs.
.
But when we were in work,
Joking around,
You were like a volcanic explosion of light,
And there was no one else like you.
.
So maybe that’s how you were supposed to be:
A jagged piece of a jigsaw puzzle
Echoing the mooring blades
With a closed circuit and
Reptilian breast plate.